Harry Potter and the Fate of Ravenclaw
by NeddyZeeKat
Summary: HBP SPOILERS. Godric's Hollow holds some interesting secrets. A love affair from nearly a thousand years ago comes to haunt Hogwarts when Harry comes across something entirely unexpected.
1. Goodbye to Childhood

_**Harry Potter and the Fate of Ravenclaw**_

By _OnyxDawn_

**Summary: **_Severe HBP spoilers. Do not read if you have not read Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince._ Godric's Hollow holds an interesting secret. A love affair from nearly a thousand years ago comes back to haunt Hogwarts when Harry, striking out in search of the four missing Horcruxes, comes across something entirely unexpected.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or related trademarks. Said trademarks belong to J.K. Rowling, and I intend to make no profit off their use.

**A/N:** There are two people I'd like to thank for helping me with this story. First, **shiruba neko**, my beta reader, for helping me get rid of all those nasty little errors that work their way into my writing. I would also like to thank **Estalio** for listening to me ramble about my plot, and telling us (probably unintentionally) spoilers for her own story, **_The Assassin's Curse_** (which I highly suggest for anyone who wants a good action/adventure/romance in the Rurouni Kenshin Fandom!).

**A/N2:** I've written this chapter almost five times, and each and every time it came out both slightly better and slightly worse than the last attempt. I'm not sure if I should be happy that this is done or upset that it didn't come out how I imagined it would originally. I know it's a typical start, probably not very interesting, but I think the content of the entire story will make up for it. Please tell me what you think!

**A/N3 (Oct. 20):** Ah ha! I finally sent this to Kathleen and back! Yay! There will be one more edit after this (for this chapter, anyway) when I fix the whole "trunk confusion" idea, but other than that, I'm happy with the finished first chapter. Kinda.

**Chapter One: Goodbye to Childhood**

Ron and Hermione had both arrived at Number Four, Private Drive on July thirteenth, just as they had previously arranged. They had helped Harry research, bringing all the books they possibly could on the Hogwarts Four and highlighting any piece of information pertinent to Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. They had helped Harry torment his cousin, teasing him endlessly and laughing in the light of something so simplistic. Ron quickly figured out that all he had to say was "Abracadabra" in order to send Dudley fleeing from whatever room they occupied.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had conveniently planned a date when they heard that Harry's "freak" friends would be arriving and there was nothing they could do about it. Nor was there anything to do about the fact that Dudley had to stay at home and exercise on doctor's orders.

Seven days later, Ron and Hermione showed up again. This time, Dudley had managed to get out of his running time by complaining loudly that his ankle hurt too badly. So Ron, Hermione, and Harry had the whole of Number Four to themselves. Once again, they spent the day researching, playing chess, and attempting to push away the inevitable. But the evening came and went, and soon it was time for Ron and Hermione to be off. They promised to come again as soon as possible.

But they never got the chance.

_Dear Harry,_ the letter from Hermione read,

_The Ministry of Magic is putting new wards up around all of the magical homes, and the Burrow is included in that. Mr. Weasley says that nobody can leave the house until all of the wards are put up, so that they'll recognize us. I don't think they'll be up before your birthday, which is awful because Ron and I were both really looking forward to spending a few more days with you and packing up to come back all together. Now you'll be stuck with the Dursleys by yourself. _

_I'm not sure how they're going to get you to the Burrow because the wards are only going to recognize those who are here while they're being put up. I know it doesn't make any sense, but I think I understand it. Tonks was telling me all about how they could use something that you have come into contact with in the past to make the spells know you. It's really complicated and I was so tempted to read the books that the aurors had brought with them. But I've been searching too hard for anything on Gryffindor or Ravenclaw._

_I'm really sorry Harry; I still haven't been able to find anything. Small objects that belonged to the Founders just don't appear in history books at random. I've looked for any information on Hufflepuff's goblet and Slytherin's locket, but I can't even find anything on those, let alone anything on objects we don't know that belonged to Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. But we'll keep searching, and someday I know we'll find what we're looking for. We always have before._

_Even Ron is working endlessly on research for this; it's pretty impressive, actually, to walk into the living room and see him with a large tome on one leg and Goodymind's Dictionary on the other. He nearly gave Mrs. Weasley a heart attack! She thought he was studying for his NEWTs and she said that I must be rubbing off on him. That really made me feel guilty. _

_Don't worry, Harry, everything will turn out right in the end. You're still going through with your plan, right? It could be really dangerous, you know. I'm afraid that you might get cornered by some dark wizards somewhere. I'm really, really sorry Harry, but I told Professor Lupin what you're doing. He's going to meet you at Private Drive and catch the Knight Bus with you. Like I said, I'm really, really sorry, but it's for your own good._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

_P.S. We haven't told the Weasleys (or anybody else, for that matter) what we're going to do. I hope you're ready for this, Harry; I hope we all are. _

Harry hadn't felt anything, particularly, when he read this letter. A brief, long-forgotten surge of something that might have been resentment had flooded through his chest before reason took control and told him this was hardly anything more than what he'd expected. Of _course_ Hermione would have had the sense to tell somebody…

He lay on his bed, legs kicked up against a closed window-sill and hands resting serenely across his chest. The clock, he knew without looking at it, read some time between seven and eight in the evening. The calendar on his nightstand had all the days crossed off up to July thirtieth. Tomorrow being his birthday, he was quite ready to get up and simply leave the Dursley's. Once he got to the Burrow, he'd have more resources available. He'd have one brief, shining moment of normalcy before the time came to set out for Godric's Hollow.

Harry Potter was perhaps one of the most unusual young men in the neighbourhood. In fact, considering that he lived in Private Drive, the only person who might have even been considered for next-in-line to be weirdest would have been the cat-obsessed squib down the street, Mrs. Figg. Everything from his messy jet-black hair to his bright green eyes and gangly, knobbly form spoke wonders of unusual experiences. But it was the scar on his forehead that set him apart from everybody, even other wizards.

The scar, jagged like a bolt of lightening, had been there since October thirty-first, 1981, when Harry was little more than fifteen months old. A cursed mark given to him by the Dark Lord Voldemort, it had caused young Harry nothing short of strife in the less-than two decades he'd been alive. But now, as Harry stood on the line between the beginning and the end, it served as a reminder to all he had to do. His fate decided, Harry would spend the next several months searching for the missing pieces of Voldemort's soul.

He would spend the next several hours waiting for the seconds to tick away until he turned seventeen. Really, this was such a pointless thing to do. He could have been flipping through Hogwarts - A History for the umpteenth time as Hermione had advised him to do, or trying to remember why it might be useful to study for NEWTs even though he knew he'd never have the chance to take them. But he wasn't, and he wasn't, and he probably never would. Some bitter resolve had settled within him. Before the year was set, he would probably be dead.

Of course, Lord Voldemort would be with him, so the thought didn't bother Harry as much as it might have. Well, it did bother him, but he tried to ignore the desire to know life after war. He squashed any hopes of a future with Ginny at his side and Ron and Hermione there too by summoning up a feeling of extreme duty. By sitting there, day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute, reciting the same mantra over and over again in his head, Harry could pretend like nothing else existed.

_The locket…the goblet…the snake…something of Gryffindor or Ravenclaw's…the locket…the goblet…the snake…something of Gryffindor or Ravenclaw's…the locket…_

"Harry Potter! Get down here this instant!"

Harry jumped a good three feet off of his bed, scrambled into a standing position, and had his wand out faster than you could say the word "threat." His baggy trousers slipped down his waist several inches, and his raggedy grey shirt made him look like a scruffy hooligan. It took him a moment to realize that the voice had only been his aunt's. Breathing quicker than he should have been, Harry tucked his wand back away under his pillow and, hesitantly, made his way downstairs.

Aunt Petunia was sweeping the kitchen floor in a frenzied, hassled manner, as if something were bothering her greatly and she was trying to take her mind off of it. "Do the dishes," she snapped. Harry frowned and had the sudden urge to refuse. He didn't have to do anything for this woman, not anymore. He'd gone through enough hell as it was. But then it struck him just how petty that would have been. Washing dishes was nothing compared to battling Dark Lords.

And so he began filling the sink with water. It was just as easy to fall back into a mentality of nothingness as it would have been lying uselessly on his bed, and now at least he was doing something semi-productive. For about a half hour he and his aunt both worked on picking up the kitchen, saying nothing to each other. The animosity that had been there for sixteen years was still there, but quieter. Harry would be gone soon.

When Petunia could find nothing more to do in the kitchen, she moved on to the living room. Harry finished the dishes, dried his hands, and was about to go back upstairs when he passed the living room and noticed something rather odd. Aunt Petunia was not vacuuming, or dusting, or even watching TV. She was sitting at the foot of the couch, arms wrapped around her folded knees, and _crying._

Intrigued, Harry hesitantly took a step away from the stairway and stood on the threshold. Aunt Petunia didn't seem to notice him, so he cautiously took another few steps into the room. By the time he'd reached her side, she still didn't realize he was there, so he knelt. "Aunt Petunia?" he asked.

Her head jerked up and her eyes narrowed when she saw him. But the desperation and fear in her expression was something he'd never seen before. The closest to this look he'd ever seen on her face was the summer before his fifth year, when he'd told her that Lord Voldemort had, indeed, returned. He wondered what could have possibly set her off this time.

"Go to your room," she demanded, but her small voice didn't really hold any conviction. Harry, balancing on the balls of his feet, shook his head. He could have sworn he heard her growl, although that would have been so absolutely uncharacteristic that he convinced himself it was simply his imagination. "This is your fault, isn't it? I don't want my baby to die."

Harry blinked, slowly, not quite sure what she meant by this. Was Dudley going to die? Shame, really, any coffin large enough to fit him would have cost more than a fortune. Harry blanched at this morbid thought, and shook his head clear of it. Even Dudley Dursley didn't deserve to _die._ "I don't think he will," Harry offered. _"He'll probably kill somebody first,"_ he mentally added, and berated himself for it. Dudley was a bully, a smoker, a lazy, spoiled brat, and had caused more than eleven years of Harry's life to be hell, but he wasn't a murderer.

"I've seen the news," Aunt Petunia whimpered pathetically. "I know that all those - all those killings are related to - to _your_ kind." She might have well have said "freaks." Harry shuddered.

"Voldemort's not about to come to Little Whinging," Harry said, feeling confident about this one fact, at least. Voldemort would go where he thought Harry was, but with the blood protection the Dursleys gave Harry, he wouldn't be coming anywhere near Private Drive for quite some time. It only just struck Harry as odd to be sitting here, reassuring his aunt that Voldemort would never show up at Little Whinging, but really, what wasn't odd these days?

"How - how do _you_ know? And even - even if h-he doesn't, Dudders is still out. And they're unprotected in London…c-completely unprotected from the f-freaks…" her shoulders convulsed as a sob wracked her body. "I don't - I don't want it t-to be like it was b-before!"

Harry sighed. He'd never been fond of the Dursleys, never liked them; heck, he loathed them, but he did owe his aunt something, if not Uncle Vernon as well. They'd hated him, resented his presence, blamed him for the unexplainable, and told him the most horrible lies about his family, but they had, after all, raised him. He'd never known love as a child, never known family, but at least he had known home. However unwelcome he was there.

"I don't owe Dudley anything," he said flatly, truthfully. "But I won't let him die at the hands of the bastard who killed my parents. He's safe, and so are you and Uncle Vernon. No wizard will ever hurt any one of you." Petunia tensed, and her eyes flashed angrily as if he had just uttered the most foul, disgusting word imaginable. He ignored this and stood up. "I'm leaving in a few hours. That's the last you'll see of _my_ kind." That said, he looked her in the eye and spoke in the most serious, sombre voice as any he'd ever used. "I promise."

He went back into his room and glanced at the clock. Ten thirty had come and gone, and now the red letters glared accusingly. He'd be seventeen in less than fifteen minutes. It was time to pack. So he did, and within a few short moments, all of his old school books, ratty clothes, and tattered belongings had made their way semi-neatly into his trunk.

Midnight rolled around. Nothing happened. Harry felt no different than he had before, not that he'd expected to. He grabbed his wand, charmed the trunk so it would be light-weight and invisible, and threw his invisibility cloak over himself. With that, he walked back down the stairs. Petunia was still in the living room, arms around her knees and eyes staring unseeingly at nothing.

"Thanks," said Harry shortly. She jumped, stared at him as if seeing through the invisibility cloak, and blinked.

"Good bye," she said, and went back to brooding.

Harry found himself at the end of Number Four only a few moments later, his trunk conveniently forgotten (yet still following him), and his eyes scanning the area for any sign of Remus Lupin. Harry had hardly expected to find his old professor just hanging around Private Drive, but he still kept a close eye on the shadows that dwelt within corners, aware that any moment he might come across the docile werewolf.

But as the minutes passed on, he wondered if perhaps he had been mistaken, if maybe, just maybe, he had misread something in Hermione's letter. But he was so sure, so positive, because he had committed the letter to memory - not out of any particular need to remember the words, but out of a need to do something - and the words were emblazed in his mind's eye.

_I'm really, really sorry Harry, but I told Professor Lupin what you're doing. He's going to meet you at Private Drive and catch the Knight Bus with you. Like I said, I'm really, really sorry, but it's for your own good._

Harry's steady footsteps stopped as he finally came to the house in Wisteria Walk where he'd first spotted his godfather, Sirius. He stared at the garage door for a long moment, as if hoping to see some flash from the past. A large black dog, perhaps, which could be easily mistaken as a grim, would have made Harry smile. As it were, though, he had nothing to stare at but a blank white door. And so, worried slightly at Lupin's absence, he took his wand and muttered, _"Lumos!"_ under his breath. The light from his wand flooded onto the street, and not two seconds later there was a resounding _BANG!_

Harry stumbled a few feet backwards when the large triple-decker, violently purple bus came to a halt before him. The doors jolted open and a young witch stepped out, a faux grin on her large, plump face.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Alice Kensington, and I will be your conductor this evening."

It took Harry a moment to remember why this wasn't Stan Shunpike greeting him. However, as soon as he recalled the conversation he had had with the Ministry of Magic himself, Rufus Scrimgeour, he felt a surge of anger slice through his chest. "I want to go to the village of Ottery St. Catchpole," he said shortly. The woman, Alice, did a double take and her smile faltered.

"That'll be eleven sickles if-"

Harry took a handful of silver from his pocket and shoved it in her hand. Then, realizing just exactly how rude he was being, he quickly apologized. "I'm sorry," he said, "I know Stan Shunpike. It isn't your fault." A sad smile came to her face and she directed him aboard. As soon as Harry got on the bus, he spotted Lupin sitting on a bed in the back, looking distinctly ruffled and exhausted.

"Whatever happened to you meeting me at Private Drive?" Harry asked, a bit irked as he sat down on the bed next to Lupin's. The former defence teacher looked just as shabby and tired as ever, the full moon having been only a few days ago. Aside from that, though, he seemed oddly subdued, quiet even for his normal self. Lupin smiled, and opened his mouth as if to answer, but then his hand shot out and grasped the pole next to his bed.

With a resounding _BANG_ the Knight Bus shot off, and the beds slid. Harry only just in time managed to grab hold of the pole at the end of his bed, barely avoiding a head-on collision with the back end of the bus. Sharp turns that jolted everybody aboard made it impossible to talk, or even think about it for that matter, and Harry only just barely managed to stay atop his lumpy sheets.

Looking out the window, Harry saw a truck jump out of the way, and several mailboxes shrink back in apparent fear of the mad vehicle. Apparently, the Knight Bus could make even inanimate objects fear for their existence. Finally getting used to the movement, Harry blinked slowly and looked back at Lupin, who looked vaguely ill. He pursed his thin lips and met Harry's gaze. A sad, weary smile spread across Lupin's features.

"I was coming to Private Drive," he said, sounding just as exhausted as he looked, "but you boarded before we got there."

"Why didn't you just apparate?" asked Harry, gripping his pole tightly as a particularly nasty jerk nearly threw him to the floor. Up front, a baby started wailing.

"Haven't you - haven't you been reading the paper, Harry?" he asked, clearly startled. "They've taken the right to apparate from non-human entities." He sounded casual, but Harry could hear resentment hidden beneath his nonchalance. He felt yet another surge of anger at the memory of the newly-instated Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, who had recently asked Harry to support the Ministry.

"And Scrimgeour wanted me to say the Ministry was doing a good job," he said bitterly. He looked down the bus to where Alice was sitting, ready and alert, and his scowl deepened.

Lupin didn't say anything to that, and they remained silent throughout the rest of the trip. However, it wasn't quite as long as it should have been, and when they stopped outside of the Leaky Cauldron, Lupin stood and gestured for Harry to come with him. Surprised, Harry did just that. When they had made their way to the front of the bus, Harry's trunk behind them, Alice gave Harry a very curious look.

"Aren't you going to the village of Ottery St. Catchpole?" she asked suspiciously.

"I thought I was," he said.

"But he isn't," Lupin clarified. "For all your trouble." He pulled out a small pouch from his pocket and handed Alice a few more sickles. She frowned deeply before accepting the silver hesitantly.

"Well then, goodbye Mr. Lupin, Mr.-"

"Goodbye," said Lupin, hurrying Harry off the bus. With a _BANG_ it had shot off down the street. "People should know better than to address you by your name in public," he muttered, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry let himself be steered into the dank pub before speaking.

"I _thought_ we were going to the Burrow."

"We are, Harry," said Lupin vaguely. "But the floo network will be easier than the front door." He nodded at Tom the innkeeper, who looked rather sad to see that he didn't have any customers this evening. Harry wondered why the man was up so late, that is, until he spoke.

"You hear?"

"Howls," answered Lupin dryly.

Tom turned to Harry. "What d'you hear when a dementor comes near?"

Harry looked up at Lupin, wary of answering a question like that. "My parents' deaths," he said, trying to speak without any emotion. This wasn't the entire answer, but Harry was smart enough to figure out what this was, and Lupin had probably told Tom that this would be the answer earlier on.

"Deepest desire?" said Lupin.

Tom grinned. "To lose my shoes."

Harry blinked at this bizarre exchange, and Tom hustled out of the room, coming back with a black pouch. He handed it to Lupin, who took a pinch of floo powder from the bag and turned to Harry. "You'll go first," he said. Harry took a pinch for himself and nodded, stepping into the dirty, empty fireplace that stood behind Tom's bar.

"The Burrow!" he said clearly, dropping the powder before him. With a flare of emerald green flames, Harry was spinning uncontrollably. He held his elbows in and closed his eyes tight. Floo was one of his least-preferred methods of travel. That and portkeys.

"Harry!" Upon falling out of the fire place and nearly toppling over, Harry found himself embraced in Mrs. Weasley's arms. She hugged him tightly and looked him over. "Oh my dear," she said worriedly, "you do look thin! Would you like something to eat?"

Harry brushed the soot off of him and shook his head. It was late; he wasn't hungry. "No thank you, Mrs. Weasley," he said. He had only just managed to get far enough away from the grate when Lupin came stumbling in, looking particularly worn now that he was covered in soot.

"Perhaps you should get some sleep now, Harry," said Lupin, brushing himself off. He and Mrs. Weasley exchanged a look, and with that, Mrs. Weasley decided that it was time for Harry to sleep.

"There's still a spot in Ronald's room, dear," she said.

Harry nodded. "Good night Mrs. Weasley, good night prof-"

"Remus," Lupin said.

"Good night, Remus," Harry corrected awkwardly. With that, he turned and began to ascend up the rickety stairs of the Burrow. Now was the start of his brief week or so of peace, and he wanted it to pass slowly. So his feet trudged across the ground and he moved without urgency. By the time he finally made it to Ron's room, at least ten minutes had passed since saying goodnight to Lupin and Mrs. Weasley. He opened the door quietly and found himself looking into the most welcome, familiar sight he could ever imagine.

Ron and Hermione were both awake, talking quietly on the floor. When Hermione saw Harry, she squealed, softly of course, and shot up. Harry was confronted with a mass of bushy brown hair as she squeezed the breath out of his lungs.

"Oh, Harry, it's great to see you," she said.

"Hey, Harry," said Ron behind her. He looked slightly annoyed with something, but was smiling all the same. When Hermione let go of Harry, the annoyance disappeared entirely from Ron's face. The trio sat down on the floor in a triangle.

"How have you been?" Hermione asked, looking worried.

"I'm fine," Harry replied sincerely. "Just the same as when you left a week ago. I know how to take care of myself." He grinned jokingly and Hermione flushed.

"Of course you do, Harry," she said, "it's just that, well, we worry about you."

"Yeah, mate," said Ron, "'lots happened since last week, hasn't it?"

Harry wasn't sure he knew what they were talking about. He hardly ever read the papers anymore, seeing as how he'd spent most of his time lying in his bedroom, doing nothing. He felt distinctly out of the loop, and he didn't have anybody to blame it on but himself. "What's happened?" he asked.

"Oh, Harry, it's dreadful," Hermione began. "The Ministry has taken away so many rights from 'non-human entities', and Professor Lupin is included in that. And then there were the Brown murders," she hesitated. "Poor Lavender. She wrote me after it happened - she never writes me, mind you - and she says she won't be able to go to Hogwarts next year, her father is so worried!"

"But they shouldn't worry," said Ron, sounding a bit angry. "They're closing Hogwarts! Can you believe it? The one place that's safe and they're closing it!"

The mood turned for the worse after this, and by the time they had fallen awkwardly silent, trying not to mention Dumbledore even though that was exactly where they'd come in the conversation, the clock struck two am. Hermione jumped up with a gasp.

"Oh, we really should get some sleep, you two," she said. Harry yawned and nodded his agreement.

"Yeah," said Ron, also yawning. "Dad's taking us to have our apparation exams in a few days; I reckon we should be rested by then." He grimaced at the mention of apparating, and, with that, they all resorted to their respective beds (or, in Hermione's case, bedroom).

"Goodnight, Harry," Ron said after awhile.

"Goodnight, Ron."

**Chapter two preview:** Birthday parties, awkwardness between Harry and Ginny, apparation exams and…_THE SUSPENUSE 0.0 IT'S MIND BOOGLING! _(If you got that, I love you trillions! If you didn't, I still love you!)


	2. If Only, If Only

_**Harry Potter and the Fate of Ravenclaw  
**_By _OnyxDawn_

**Chapter Two: So be it  
**or** If only, if only**

The next morning greeted Harry with a plethora of smells wafting into his room from downstairs. He stirred in his sleep, split in two over the choice to either stay in the warmth of his bed or follow the delectable promise of Mrs. Weasley's cooking. Finally, unable to go back to sleep, Harry opened his eyes cautiously and noted, at once, that Ron's bed looked as if it hadn't even been slept in. Curious, Harry sat up and looked around, spotting a clock that sat on the wall. It read **9:45**. Reluctantly, as if wishing he didn't have to entirely leave the comfort of his bed, Harry got up and dressed, taking a short shower before he descended the stairs.

In the kitchen, all of the Weasleys (except for Charlie and Mr. Weasley), Hermione, Lupin, Tonks, and Fleur were eating a breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast, and juice. Mrs. Weasley was the first to notice Harry standing in the door way, and she beamed. "Good morning, dear!" she all but cried out happily, directing Harry to the only empty chair at the table, which was between Ron and Hermione. "And happy birthday as well!" She put a loaded plate in front of him, and for one brief, shining moment, Harry was blissfully unaware of the hazel-eyed stare that was nearly penetrating his skull. When he looked up and met Ginny's eyes, he blanched and immediately looked back down. Had Mrs. Weasley purposefully put him right across from Ginny? That was hardly fair.

"Good morning, Harry," said his ex-girlfriend quietly. Harry felt extremely awkward, and couldn't force himself to look away from his eggs. Ron fidgeted next to him while Hermione argued with George over something trifle, so probably didn't notice the discomfort level rising quicker than a burnt bat could fly out of hell.

"Good, er, morning, Ginny," Harry said stiffly. Hermione, getting fed up with George, turned to Harry.

"Oh! Good morning, Harry, I didn't see you." She looked between him and Ginny for a moment before she elbowed Harry in the rib. He looked up, caught Ginny's eye, and suddenly they both burst out laughing. This was so stupid; really, they didn't need to act so awkward around each other. It was then that it fully hit Harry that he was, indeed, seventeen, and had every right to do magic. He was an adult, and today was his birthday, and he was spending it with the Weasleys: the closest family he had. He grinned at Ginny, who grinned back at him, and happily melted into the conversation that arose between Ron and his sister about the Cannons.

"They haven't won a game in _ages_, Ron," Ginny said. "I mean, why support them? The entire team's rubbish!"

"So what if they haven't won anything," Ron replied fervently. "It's called _loyalty_, Ginny. L-o-y-a-l-"

"Oh goodness, Ronald can spell! Somebody get the press!" Hermione interjected. Ron glowered at her.

"Of course I can," he shot back angrily.

"Oh, come on Ron, she was only kidding around," said Ginny reasonably.

"So what? She can't go around insulting my intelligence just because she has her nose stuck in a book three quarters of the time. Hermione, you'd _never_ get Quidditch."

"I would too! It's just a silly game, though. And for your information, I was _not_ insulting your intelligence."

"How could she?" Ginny asked cheekily. "There'd be nothing to insult."

"Ginny!" Ron roared, furiously, his ears turning bright red.

"It's true," Ginny snapped.

"Oh, honestly Ron, look, you're taking this all too literally!"

"Hey, just because you get to be the know-it-all doesn't mean I'm suddenly stupid!"

"I wasn't saying that!" The two glared at each other for several long moments, in which Harry and Ginny both tried very hard not to laugh. Really, Harry thought, for two people who obviously cared so very much about each other, there wasn't much to show for their friendship when it came to everyday situations.

Lupin's voice brutally yanked Harry back to the reality where he wasn't as close to Ginny as he'd like to have been. "I'm afraid I didn't get to ask you last night, Harry, how has your summer been?"

Briefly irritated, Harry swallowed the bite of toast he had allowed just a split-second before Lupin spoke before answering. "Oh, it's been fine. The Dursleys are nothing when they know that this is the last summer I'll ever see them. Happy to see me gone, they were; so they left me alone, and I won't deny being beyond pleased for the ability to truthfully say that I will never have to see them again."

Lupin chuckled softly. "I'm hardly surprised," he said. Then, glancing at Tonks who was in active conversation with Fred, he said, "This summer's been less than easy on me, but I won't deny being beyond pleased for some more…recent developments." Lupin looked slightly abashed, and Harry understood. After all, Lupin came across as a very private man, and with Tonks at his side after what Harry had witnessed in the hospital wing only a few weeks ago, it seemed as if that privacy had been _breeched_ somehow.

About fifteen minutes later, Harry found that he was no longer hungry at all, and as conversation began to dwindle, he felt the first twinges of the day's bitterness settling upon him. Here he was, in a perfectly pleasant situation, and yet he still felt the repercussions of what had happened only two months before, and the implications of what that would mean for the future. With Dumbledore dead, Voldemort's reign in full swing, and the ever imposing threat of Harry's location being discovered by the enemy, his seventeenth birthday just didn't hold the same meaning as it might have. These precious minutes of normalcy, which might even stretch on to a few days, would have to end sometime. Having said goodbye to Ginny once, Harry didn't want to think about the pain he would have to bear to say goodbye to her a second time.

Thankfully, Ron interrupted his brooding by suggesting that they all go out and play a game of Quidditch. Hermione huffed indignantly, but followed them out to the back yard. When she was there, she conjured up a chair and summoned a book from her room.

"What, not playing?" asked Ron, who clearly enjoyed this chance to goad her.

"Of course not," she snapped, opening her book and not looking up. "Why would I want to play such a silly game?"

"Silly?" shrieked Ginny. "Jeesh, Ron was right, you really _don't_ understand Quidditch." She grinned, however, when Hermione looked up to glare at her. Hermione simply rolled her eyes and went back to her book. Ron was furious.

"What, if _I_ had retorted like that-"

"You wouldn't have been kidding around, Ron," Hermione retorted, not looking away from her book. "Get a sense of humour, will you?"

Harry, sensing a full-out row, quickly grabbed the brooms from the shed and tossed Ron his Cleansweep and Ginny a Comet 260 that Fred and George had nicked from the school some years back. His own Firebolt swung over his shoulder, Harry decided to act as captain, since Ron was too busy glaring at Hermione and Ginny was too busy trying not to giggle. "Okay, since there are only three of us, me and Ginny will play as chasers on opposing teams and Ron can be keeper for both of us."

"All right then," said Ginny.

"It's Ginny and _I_, Harry," Hermione corrected idly. Harry rolled his eyes and mounted his broom, but Ron had something else to say.

"Honestly, you don't need to correct every small misuse of grammar out there, it's not like it matters!"

"Fine, then," Hermione snapped, getting up. With a flick of her wrist and a muttered charm, the chair disappeared and she stormed back towards the house. Ron looked absolutely furious.

"Way to be a prat, Ron," Ginny said sarcastically, mounting her own broom and flying up about twenty feet into the air. They had to play lower than usual because there was a muggle village not very far away and they most certainly didn't want to be spotted. Ron followed, his mood sour.

For awhile they played Quidditch. Ron was angered even further by the fact that Ginny got the basketball they had retrieved from their father's shed to use as a Quaffle past him more than half the time. Harry, ever the natural flyer, even managed to get more than Ron was comfortable with through the goal. In the end, when Mrs. Weasley called them in for lunch, Ron was in such a foul mood that he wouldn't even talk to Harry. Ron walked ahead quickly, and Ginny stayed behind and walked at a slower pace with Harry.

"Are you going to worry about me less, Harry? Hogwarts is closed, and I'm just as much a target now as I would be standing next to you."

The words took Harry completely by surprise. He stopped short, and she stopped, turning to face him with an almost pleading look in her eyes. He stared at her for a long moment, feeling as if all the air had been shocked out of his lungs by a fierce blow of thousands of bricks. She waited patiently, and after a minute he realized that he was just standing there, gaping at her stupidly.

"Ginny, don't do this, all right? I've made up my decision, and you agreed to it. You can't come." He wanted her to understand, but really, she couldn't. She didn't know anything about the Horcruxes, or even about the prophecy, as far as he knew. It hurt to hide so much about himself from her, but he had promised Dumbledore to tell no one but Ron and Hermione. He would keep his promise to Dumbledore, and in the end, Ginny would just have to understand.

"Hogwarts is closed this year, though," she said. "I didn't even know that was a possibility when I agreed to stay behind. Oh, Harry, you really are daft sometimes. I _care_ about you; I can't just let you disappear without even knowing what you're up to-"

"That's exactly the point," Harry lied, his voice grave. He knew, however, that Ginny believed him no more than he did himself. "You have no idea what we're looking for."

"Then tell me!"

"I can't."

"Why not? Harry, you're lying to me - you've _been_ lying to me. Why?" She sounded so desperate, and her words were so reminiscent of what he'd been thinking for the past hour that he thought he might actually give in. But he couldn't; he had to stand strong. And if that meant giving up the girl who meant the world to him, then so be it. He'd done it before. All he had to do was hold out for a week or two longer.

"I can't tell you, Ginny," he said, his voice taking a much softer, pleading tone itself. "I promised D-Dumbledore I wouldn't tell anyone."

"You told Ron and Hermione." Adamant. Damn her.

"Yes, and Dumbledore knows-_knew_ that," Harry's voice broke slightly and he had to look down for a moment, taking a deep breath before she met her gaze once more and continued, determined. "I can't tell anyone else. Not even you. I don't like-I hate keeping it a secret from you, but I have to. You said you understood, Ginny, _please_, understand now."

It would be so much easier if she weren't looking him so sombrely in the eye. She looked as if it might cry, and it felt like a stab in the heart not to be able to pull her close to him, to hold her and tell her that everything would be all right. If only he could tell her that he wasn't putting his life on the line, or Ron or Hermione's. If only he could tell her what he wanted to tell her. _If only, if only, the woodpecker sighs…_Harry remembered that from words Aunt Petunia had once spoken to Dudley. At the time, it had meant nothing. Now, it felt as if they were the only words that kept him alive.

"I understand," Ginny said finally, her voice hardly audible. "But Harry, oh, Harry, I worry so much about you. And it hurts; it really hurts to think that you're just rushing off into danger. If only I knew…"

"If you could know, Ginny, I'd have you at my side."

Harry then turned and started walking back to the house, unaware of the amber-eyed gaze that was coming from the window he was heading towards. Ginny stood, silently, and he knew that she was watching his back. She wouldn't move for a long time.

Inside the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley greeted Harry with an odd, sad expression. She hugged him unnecessarily and had him sit next to Ron, at the end of the table, and across from Bill (who had recovered nicely from his injuries, but would still be scarred for life) and Fleur. Harry couldn't help but think that this was Mrs. Weasley's attempt at telling him she very much approved of what he'd just told Ginny. Of course, how she could possibly know Harry didn't bother to think about.

When Ginny finally came in, Harry had managed to convincingly appear as if he were a part of the conversation between Hermione and Fleur. Ron was still sullen and glared at his food as he stabbed his chicken fiercely.

"Zee wedding will be on zee eleventh," Fleur was saying as she flipped her flowing hair away from the table dramatically. "I zeenk zat it will be wondrous to hold it on Ginny's birthday. And she will make such a pretty flower girl!" Hermione looked as if she were trying to keep a straight face.

"Oh, that _does_ sound wonderful," she said.

"She doesn't even care," Ron muttered next to Harry. Harry didn't quite know how to respond to that; he was too busy trying to avoid Ginny's gaze. Fortunately, Ron continued, giving Harry the excuse to say nothing and stare determinedly at his plate. "I mean, you'd think that she'd be nicer after what happened last year. It isn't as if she didn't have a hand in what happ-"

"Shut up."

Ron blinked, and then realised just exactly what he was going to say. His eyes widened. "Bloody hell, Harry, I'm sorry. You know that's not what I meant."

"Yeah," said Harry bitterly. He had enough problems as it was; he didn't need Ron and Hermione to be at each other's throats for all the life as if they were bitter enemies. "You two should stop fighting so much; you might find that you actually _like_ each other."

Much to Harry's surprise, Ron actually blushed at that. "Er, yeah," he said, looking back at his plate.

Later, when Ron and Harry had gone upstairs to get a book for Hermione (Ron had seemed particularly odd about this, but Harry didn't question), Harry finally decided to act. "You know how obvious you are?" he said. Ron blinked.

"Wha?" he asked.

"You and Hermione," Harry said. Much to his delight, Ron's ears turned dark red and he looked down, fishing through his trunk. Harry found _that_ a bit odd - after all, they were looking for Hermione's book - but he ignored it. "I really meant what I said downstairs. You two should stop fighting so much; you might find that you _really_ like each other."

"Shut up, Harry, I don't like Hermione, er, like _that._ I mean, this is _Hermione_ we're talking about here. You know: bushy-haired know-it-all who tagged along with us in first year?" Harry raised his eyebrows at Ron. He scowled. "You're being unre-"

"Then why'd you break it off with Lavender?" Ron blanched.

"That's got nothing to do with it, mate," Ron retorted, sounding highly uncomfortable. "She was getting to clingy. Honestly, _Won-Won?_ Who wouldn't break up with that?"

Harry just rolled his eyes. "You know it, I know it and, hell, if Hermione doesn't know it then she isn't the girl I've known for the past five years. You two are just being too stubborn."

"She doesn't like me like that," Ron said, sinking onto his bed and forgetting about whatever book it was they needed to find. He sounded rather lost. "I mean, she thinks I'm the most annoying git to cross the surface of the planet."

"And you think that of her, too," Harry said, shrugging. "Don't ask me how it works. I mean, you two are _so_ obvious that the only person who _doesn't_ see it is you - and maybe Hermione."

"She doesn't see it 'cause it isn't there," said Ron shortly. "Come on, we've got to get back downstairs."

"I thought we needed to get Hermione's book?"

"Yeah, well, we don't. Let's go."

Confused, Harry followed Ron downstairs. Much to his surprise and fear, all of the lights had been dimmed and there was nobody in sight. Ron, however, was quite suddenly grinning.

"Ron, what's going on?" Harry asked. Ron smirked, turned on a kitchen light with the flick of his wand, and suddenly-

_"Surprise!"_

They all jumped out at him. Harry nearly jumped a foot in the air and he blinked several times.

"Bloody hell," Harry muttered.

"Don't curse," Hermione admonished, beaming as she threw his arms around him. "Happy birthday, Harry!"

Hermione and Ron seemed to forget that they were fighting, and the air around the Burrow lightened by a tenfold throughout the next several hours. Presents were opened, cake was devoured, the floor was emptied so that there could be dancing to the new Weird Sister's CD that Tonks had brought, and everybody was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Even Ginny and Harry managed to relax around each other.

Finally, as the festivities began to die down, Hermione found both Harry and Ron and dragged them off into a corner. She was grinning, but when she turned to face the two of them, her grin faded and her expression turned serious.

"What's up?" Ron asked.

"The wedding isn't until the eleventh, guys," Hermione replied, biting her lower lip.

"Yeah," Harry said, frowning. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I think we need to leave before then," Hermione replied. "You know, we can spend a few days at Godric's Hollow and then have it over with in time to return for Bill and Fleur's wedding, and then we can really go. We'll be saving up so much time."

Ron looked oddly pale. "Hermione," he said, "I haven't even told mum that we'll be going. And we can't apparate yet. Dad's not taking us 'till the fifth to get our license."

Harry, however, thought this was a great idea. "Yeah, but there's still time between the fifth and the eleventh," he said. "Why don't we leave after our exams, pass or fail? And we can tell your parents then, too. I don't want these next few days to be ruined."

"I wasn't planning on telling them until the last minute," Hermione agreed.

"What if something goes wrong?" Ron asked. "I mean, what if we run into something at Godric's Hollow and can't make it back here in time?"

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said, and she threw her arms around him. "We have to go eventually."

"That's-that's not-" but then he caught Harry's eyes and finally gave in, clinging to Hermione for all the world as if she were his lifeline. Harry moved slightly so he could catch Hermione's gaze, and he nodded. She smiled at him, and then Harry turned and went off to thank everybody for the party.

The next few days passed in much the same way, with cheerful moments and sombre moments. Harry spent most of his time with Ron and Hermione. He tried to avoid Ginny, but when he couldn't, he acted as normal as possible around her and made sure to keep the topic away from anything too serious. As the wedding grew closer, Fleur and Mrs. Weasley began jumping around the place, cleaning, making arrangements, and giggling together like school girls. The Delecours would be arriving on the eighth, so there was much talk about that.

On the morning of the fifth, Mr. Weasley got Harry and Ron up at about six. Groggily, Harry got dressed and managed to steal the first shower. When he, Ron, and Mr. Weasley were ready, they took the floo to the Three Broomsticks at Hogsmead. They then walked the rest of the way to _The Apparation Centre_. It was a small, decrepit building, but inside it looked oddly like a very well-furnished hotel lobby. The carpet was deep red with yellow patterns here and there, and the walls had cream-coloured wall paper. At the mahogany counter-top, a young witch stood, filing her nails.

When she saw Mr. Weasley, she nodded to a door off to the right. Inside the room there were several people taking apparation exams. A young man with tufty, owl-like hair retrieved Harry and directed him to a hoop on the wooden floor. "Good morning, Mr... Potter," he said, looking at the sheet of paper that Mr. Weasley had handed him. He blinked when saw this, and did a double take, eyes flickering up to Harry's scar. "Good lord," he whispered. Harry fidgeted beneath the grey-eyed gaze. He was used to this, but it still made him feel like some sort of animal on display.

"Well, this will be a story to tell the Missus!" he said happily. "My wife's a great fan of yours. Thinks you're a right young hero, she does. She'll be in a fit when she learns I met you." He grinned at Harry, who tried his best to smile politely. It came out as a rather odd grimace, though, and the man seemed to get the hint. "No matter," he said. "Anyway, good morning to you, Mr. Potter. I'm Robert Haman and I'll be your apparation guide today. You know what you're doing, I gather?" Harry nodded. "Excellent, excellent. Step into the hoop. I want you to apparate to the Three Broomsticks for me, will you? I'll come with you. Right in front of the third stool to the left in front of Madam Rosmerta's wonderful bar! Right, right!"

Harry closed his eyes and concentrated. "Remember the three D's!" the examiner shouted. Harry tried, bringing to mind the three words that had been pounded into his head over and over again. And then, with a jolt, he felt all of the air squeeze out of his lungs as he was forced through what felt like a thin rubber tube. When he opened his eyes, he was exactly where he was supposed to be, and, as far as he could tell, he hadn't left any body parts behind.

"Excellent, excellent!" cried Mr. Haman, appearing behind him. "Now, back to your hoop!" Harry repeated the process from before and came back in his hoop. "A natural!" Mr. Haman said, beaming. "Absolutely wonderful. Now, you'll go back to the main lobby with this ticket," he handed Harry a yellow stub, "and they'll get you on the records in no time!" And with that, Harry did as he was told.

Ron was in the lobby as well, grinning from ear to ear like a mad rabbit. "I passed!" he yelled. "Did you?"

"Yeah," said Harry, elated. He put the ticket on the counter and the witch took it, moving about. She conjured a small badge with her wand and handed it to Harry.

"If you're caught apparating without that on you," she said, sounding bored, "you'll be arrested. Congratulations on passing your exam. NEXT!"

Back at the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley was waiting with hugs and congratulations of her own for Ron and Harry. However, they quickly dispersed and trudged upstairs, where they met Hermione in Ron's room. Putting a silencing charm on the door, the three sat in a circle on the floor.

"You guys ready?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," said Ron, his face pale but set, ready for whatever tasks lie ahead.

Hermione nodded. "Always, Harry," she said.

"You sure?" Harry asked. "I mean, now's your chance to back out. You guys really don't have to do this."

Hermione laughed. It was a strangled sort of sound, but reassuring all the same. "Harry, we're coming with you. We'll be at your side no matter what."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, Harry. Follow you through the depths of hell and back. Just as long as we're back in time for the wedding."

Hermione giggled, and Harry tried his very best not to allow the lump in his throat to take control of him. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Finally, he was able to force a, "thanks," out. Hermione shrieked suddenlyand pulled Harry into a hug. He felt tears trickle down his neck and held her awkwardly. Ron coughed.

"Oh, Harry," said Hermione. "We'll always be with you, you know that, right?" Harry nodded and patted her back.

"You two are the greatest friends anyone could ever hope for," he said, his voice breaking slightly and rather higher pitched than he liked.

"Do you know where Godric's Hollow is?" Hermione asked, after pulling away from Harry and wiping her cheeks. Harry nodded.

"Yeah," Harry assured her, "I asked Prof-er, I asked Remus awhile back. As long as you're touching my arm when we apparate, we'll all get there since I know where we're going." He bit his lip nervously. "Are you guys absolutely sure?"

"Yes!" Hermione said, hitting Harry's arm playfully.

"If you keep asking us that," Ron said in a mock-accusing voice, "we'll start to think that you're actually _trying _to get rid of us."

Harry grinned. "Fine, then," he said, standing up. His grin faded. "Let's go tell your parents."

Ron and Hermione stood up next to him, each with a fierce look of determination on their face. Ron stilllooked a bit pale, and Hermione was trembling slightly. "I can't believe we're actually going to do this," she whispered in a small voice. Harry almost said something about the fact that she didn't have to do this, but Ron silenced him with a look.

Ron lifted the silencing charm from the room and the trio cautiously walked downstairs, trying to savour these last few minutes of familiarity. When they finally got downstairs, they found Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and Fleur all sitting in the living room. Harry coughed to catch their attention, looked to Ron and Hermione for support, and then met Mrs. Weasley's frightened eyes. It was as if she could tell something wasn't going to turn out how she wanted it to.

"Mrs. Weasley," said Harry quietly, "we're…can we talk to you and Mr. Weasley? Alone?" He bit his lip and looked down at the floor. Mr. Weasley came in from the kitchen holding a tray of tea.

"They already know, Harry," said Ginny. "I told them."

Harry gaped at her.

"Just now," she said in a rush. "I heard you guys going upstairs together. I knew what you were planning to do. You can go."

Harry nodded. He looked back at Mrs. Weasley.

"Take care of yourselves," she said, sounding choked. There were tears welling up in her eyes.

"We will, mum," said Ron. "And we'll be back in time for…" he trailed off, his head jerking towards Fleur.

"Oh, you are so brave!" Fleur cried. She sprung up from the floor and hugged Ron and Harry, kissing them each on the cheek. Hermione looked comically furious, but accepted Fleur's hug all the same.

**Chapter three preview:** So, they're finally hauling their butts off to Godric's Hollow, where they might just find that love letters are more important than first thought. What's going to happen now? _THE SUSPENUSE 0.0 IT'S MIND BOOGLING!_

**4eva-lost: **Yay! My first reviewer! Thank you!

**bandgsecurtiyaw:** Thank you!

**Estalio:** I sent your chapter to Kathleen…if she hasn't gotten it, that just means the email services are freaking out again! Wizards can't apparate _on_ Hogwarts grounds, but they can most anyplace else. That is, unless there are wards on it. And the Browns murders are _not_ spoilers. I made that part up myself. The only spoilers were um…well…just read HBP, will ya? lol! Thank you!

And thanks to all of the people who have put this fic on their story alerts and favourite stories list! I feel so loved!


	3. Godric's Secret Letter

_**Harry Potter and the Fate of Ravenclaw  
**_By _OnyxDawn_

**Chapter Three: Godric's Secret Letter**

They didn't say goodbye.

Harry retrieved his invisibility cloak and he, Ron, and Hermione went outside, walking over to the shed where the broomsticks were kept. They didn't have anything left to do at the Burrow, but they wanted to create some semblance of calm. If they left immediately, they would feel rushed. So while Mrs and Mr. Weasley both thought the three had already left to Godric's Hollow, they didn't plan to truly leave until sun down.

Sitting against the shed, Harry stared off into space while Ron and Hermione bickered. He couldn't help but feel as if he were doing something wrong by leading his two best friends into such a perilous danger. If one of them ended up getting killed, how would he live with himself? Maybe he could get away with saying the adventure ended after Godric's Hollow. He could force them to stay behind while he went off to face the real danger.

"No you're not!"

Harry blinked and looked up, startled. For a moment he actually believed that Hermione had read his thoughts.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, you just don't understand, do you?" Ron snapped, and immediately Harry felt a rush of relief. They were just arguing, being normal. Stretching out against the shed door, Harry realized that the sun was beginning to set.

"Guys, we need to go," Harry said, before Hermione could retort. He didn't want to know what they had been arguing about. It was probably something silly, anyway. Standing up, Harry became aware that both his friends looked particularly flustered, and Hermione wore an expression of extreme annoyance. Ron, though, looked rather relieved.

"All right," said Ron quickly. "Let's go then." He put his hand on Harry's shoulder, and Hermione did the same, shooting a glare at Ron.

"On three, we all have to apparate," said Harry, ignoring them. "I know where we're going, but that doesn't mean I can do the apparating for all three of us." They both nodded. "One… Two… Three!" With a loud pop, the three had disappeared. Just as they left, rain began to drizzle on the ground and, standing alone on the front porch, Ginny started to cry.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had a hard time not toppling over each other when they landed. After gaining his composure, Harry straightened and got his first real look around the place that might have been his home if only events had gone differently sixteen years ago.

It would have been a glorious understatement to call the place hauntingly beautiful. A row of houses, each with their own distinct impression of dilapidated abandonment, stood tall and deliberate, powerful in their lasting state of oblivion. Number Seven, unlike any of the other houses, was in shambles, its brick walls covered in tangles of thriving ivy. The clash of opposing elements, life and death, bestowed upon the air a magical; the stillness of the night was tranquil and calm.

Harry blinked several times, trying to get used to this new darkness. Unlike the Burrow, there was no faint glow cast from the stars, no air of home or prospering love. It was abandoned; a ghost town in every sense of the word, and not even a cricket dared chirp. At the end of the street there was a sign so covered in rust and dreary void that all that could be seen was "Hollow." Fitting, Harry thought. Hermione took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Finally, Ron broke the silence.

"Whoa," he whispered. Harry had to agree with that sentiment, for it summed up the wash of emotions that had flooded through him at that moment rather perfectly. The feeling of raw, immense nostalgia that gripped his chest at that moment was so strong he fell to his knees on the cracked and beaten pavement. Hermione knelt down next to him and drew him into a close hug, and Ron was quick to follow. For a long time, the trio just sat there, staring at the fallen house, lost in the torrent of understanding. This was the place where it had all began. For them, anyway.

Harry came to his senses when he felt Hermione tugging at his shoulder. "Come on," she whispered. There was no logical reason for her to be whispering, but the feel of the place simply called for silence. It did not want to be disturbed. Harry and Ron both stood up, and slowly, hesitantly, they began to walk towards Number Seven. Coming closer, Harry saw that the front wall had been entirely demolished. Next to him, light flared to life as Ron lit up his wand and raised it above his head. Hermione screamed and quickly buried her head into Ron's neck at the sight this revealed.

Harry felt like throwing up.

There, on the wasted carpet only feet away from where the front door had once stood, was a skeleton. "Bloody fucking hell," Ron whispered. Harry stumbled backwards, shaking his head. He knew who that was. The surface of his father's bones were somehow pearly white, and the gaping holes in the skull seemed like void, bottomless pits, eager to accept anyone who dared stare too long into their eternal emptiness. The gleaming smile seemed to mock them where they stood.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Hermione whispered, her voice shaking uncontrollably. Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from the sockets. He felt numb, as if every particle of his being were being melted by the feelings that couldn't be expressed. He could find no words to speak, no definite emotions, and all that he could think about was how he'd been so positive there would be a grave. Surely there had been enough people still to care about his parents to bury them properly. But no, here was the skeleton of James Potter, grinning up at him from the floor of the house that Harry had, as a baby, known so well.

He wasn't aware of his own violently trembling body until Ron put a hand on his shoulder. Harry blinked, slowly, and then he sensed something so entirely foreign that at first he couldn't identify it. A wash of smell flared in his senses, and he was, after a moment, able to identify it as the smell of the lavender air freshener his mother had often used in the living room. Closing his eyes, Harry could see her grinning, pinning his father to the floor and tickling him mercilessly. From somewhere in the kitchen came to sound of a baby giggling madly, and two men roaring with laughter. Somehow, he knew that these men were Pettigrew and Sirius.

Opening his eyes, Harry viciously shrugged off his friend's comforting hand and looked away. Hot tears trickled down his cheeks. Hermione and Ron understood that they had to remain silent, and turned to each other for comfort. The sound of Hermione's stifled sobs filled the air, and Ron gently ran his hand through her bushy hair and kissed the top of her head. None of them said anything, respecting the natural, eerie quiet and Harry's own torrid emotions.

After the shock had worn off and the vision had faded, Harry became aware of a fervid anger boiling within his veins. His blood raced, his heart pounded, his teeth clenched, and for an instant Harry could think of nothing but getting his hands on the people responsible. Snape, Pettigrew, Voldemort - they all would pay. They would pay for this, and not only that, but they would regret it. For the first time in his life, Harry didn't just want revenge. This hatred that burned within him was something far more savage, one that would not be quelled until his quest was complete.

Knowing that it was useless to act on this new anger - this hatred that burned so horridly - Harry managed to relax with a few deep, shuddering breaths, and turned to face his friends. When Ron met his eyes, a flash of fear crossed the red-head's face, as if he saw something in the emerald orbs of Harry's that truly, _truly_ frightened him. He cursed, once again, and Hermione squeaked slightly. She looked up at Harry and her own teary eyes widened.

"We have to search," said Harry firmly, unaware that his hands were clenched at his side. He didn't know what imposing figure he cut across the fallen scenery, he only knew that the sooner he got the answer he needed from Godric's Hollow, the sooner he could be on his way to fulfilling his destiny.

"For what?" Hermione asked. Her voice was hardly audible, in fact, the only reason Harry knew that she had spoken those words was because, at that instant, the answer came to him.

"I don't know," he said, "but I'll know when I see it." He turned back to the gaping hole in Number Seven and blanched when he saw his father's bones. Not quite sure what he was doing, Harry unbuttoned his cloak and threw it over the figure. Then, gesturing to Ron and Hermione, he stepped over the threshold and went into where he had imagined the voices of Sirius and Peter. It was the kitchen, and looked no better than the rest of the house. Ron was immediately interested by the stove, which told them all that this had been a muggle household. It was covered in the same ivy that spread over the outside.

Hermione gasped as she came upon something, and Harry whirled around from his position where he had been examining scorch marks on the counter. A light tingling sound filled the air, and Harry moved over to where Hermione was standing, in what had once been the living room. She was hunched over a mouldy, four-legged table. The music sent chills up Harry's spine and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"What is it?" Ron asked, coming up on her other side. Harry looked down and saw a very ornate wood box, opened to reveal a velvet-coated inside. Once-pink earrings were the only visible thing, aside from a little golden rod that was spinning in circles.

"Phantom of the Opera," Hermione whispered, sounding awed. Harry could almost see his mother, wearing a gentle white dress and those pink earrings, dancing with his father in a large ballroom that resembled the Hogwarts Great Hall. She was dancing to this tune, moving gracefully, and smiling at his father with a look of pure bliss in her eyes. Harry blinked and once again saw the music box. For a few moments, the three stood, enchanted by the melody, before Hermione finally, with extreme care, shut the lid. It had a carving of a man with half of his face covered by a silver-painted mask.

"You're mum had great tastes," said Hermione quietly. "Phantom of the Opera is one of the most amazing muggle operas."

"Come on," said Harry, pulling away from her. The mood had changed subtly, somehow, from tense and angry to calm and relaxed. "I think we might find something in their bedroom."

Hermione began casting spells on the stairs to make sure they would hold the weight of three people, and Ron pulled Harry aside, an incredulous look on his face. "What exactly are we looking for?" he asked.

"I told you," said Harry quietly, "I'll know when I see it."

"Harry, this isn't like all the other adventures we've been on before. It isn't the Philosopher's Stone or my younger sister we're looking for…it's pieces of You Know Who's _soul._"

"Yeah," said Harry, "I know that. Just trust me, all right?"

Ron looked Harry very carefully in the eye, and then sighed, looking down for a moment. Then, thankfully, he changed the topic. Unfortunately, it wasn't anything more pleasant. "You know, back there…with your...where your father was. You got a look in your eye like nothing I'd ever seen before." It was a question, but Ron was afraid to ask it outright. Harry felt rather disinclined to answer it, however, and simply shook his head.

"I'd rather not talk about it," he said.

"Hey guys," Hermione said, standing at the base of the now sturdy-looking staircase. She looked rather curious, but didn't say anything more. Harry nodded. Together, Ron and Harry followed Hermione up the stairs and, with extreme care, made their way through the dank hallway to a door way, though the door itself had been blown to pieces.

_The robbed figure moved gracefully up the stairs, Lily could hear him. She held onto her son tightly, whispering words that would forever go unheard. Harry, still and silent as if he understood the gravity of the situation, shrunk against his mother's breast and whimpered silently. With a burst of light, the door flew off its hinges and Lord Voldemort stepped into the baby's room._

_"Step aside, silly girl," he said. _

_"No! Please, take me! Don't kill Harry, take me instead!"_

_"I said, stand aside!"_

Harry shook his head of the memory, feeling cold, as if a dementor had just stepped into the house with them. The room they had entered was not his parents'. But rather, it was his. Prepared though he was to see his mother's skeleton lying discarded only a few feet away from the ivy-covered crib, Harry still felt a jab of pain in his chest. Hermione whimpered quietly, but bravely stepped forward and began searching through the dusty blankets as if desperately searching for something she just _knew_ was there.

Ron caught Harry's eyes, and they both nodded. Harry went to a drawer which had once been baby-blue and opened up the first compartment. Inside, there were several cards with fading gold letters. He could just make out the words on one of the cards, which had the imprint of a teddy bear holding a bunch of balloons. The colour, though, had disappeared ages ago.

_James and Lily Potter  
__Would like to announce  
__The newest arrival into their family:  
__Harry James Potter!  
__Congratulations!_

Next to the words there was a crinkled muggle photograph of what had to be a day-old Harry Potter. Harry stared at this picture of a long moment before gently laying it back on the pile of cards and closing the drawer.

"Hey," Ron said, "what's this? It says, _Dearest Rowena…_I think…" Harry looked up at Ron who was standing next to him and holding a withered piece of parchment. It somehow looked even older than anything else they had come across so far, with yellowed edges and a burnt left hand bottom corner. Hermione came up behind them and looked over their shoulders, and Harry took the letter, carefully blowing some dust. The words were written in a strong, blunt style, and seemed to be in old English. He couldn't make head or tails of it, so handed it to Hermione.

She took it and examined it closely. "It's-it's a love letter," she said quietly, "it's a love letter to Rowena Ravenclaw from-" she looked nearer to the bottom of the parchment and her eyes widened. "It's from Godric Gryffindor!" she exclaimed.

Ron huffed, deflating as if somebody had just taken a wondrous present away from him only moments after he'd opened it. "What are we going to do with that?" he asked.

"It's what we're looking for." Harry didn't even realize it until the words were out of his mouth, but the moment they were, he knew. They wouldn't find anything else in this house, aside from the forgotten skeletons of his parents' bodies. "What does it _say?_"

_"Dearest Rowena, my beautiful love, what hath turned your wrath against me? My beloved, forgive me my trespasses and hold me dear to your heart…"_ Hermione frowned. "I guess it's more of an apology letter," she said quietly. "I can't make out much more than that, but he did _something_ to hurt Ravenclaw. And I don't think he really expected her to forgive him." She looked up at Harry. "Do you really think this is what we're looking for? I mean, it's interesting, but is it important?"

"Maybe the object we're looking for belonged to both Ravenclaw _and_ Gryffindor," said Ron, obviously without having even thought through the sentence before he spoke it. However, when he did, Hermione stared at him, mouth dropped, eyes wide, looking absolutely gob smacked. "Er…that was a stupid idea," Ron muttered quickly.

"No!" Hermione yelped. Then the room immediately fell silent, feeling as if it would collapse around them now that somebody had actually breeched the whispering boundaries. Like the tense before an avalanche, the three were quiet for several moments, until they were sure nothing big was going to happen. "I mean," Hermione explained, looking sheepish and speaking in a much, _much_ smaller voice, "that's a brilliant idea, Ron."

Ron blushed. "Really?" he asked.

Hermione nodded fervently. The floor creaked beneath them and they all jumped. Harry felt his heart racing, trying to jump out of his mouth; somebody was downstairs. The sound of the stairway being climbed was the sound of impending doom. Had Death Eaters followed them to Godric's Hollow? Or was it just the Ministry of Magic, swooping in to see what trespassers walked amuck?

Somehow, Harry thought, it didn't sound like human footsteps. The soft, hard, rattling _clank_ it made against the stairway was too sure and frank to be the muffled padding of shoes or feet. It was like two wooden canes, perhaps, ascending the stares slowly but surely. Hermione, who trembled violently, found shelter once more in Ron's arms. Symbolically, almost, the two stood behind Harry and he faced the door, wand at hand, ablaze with fear and determination.

The person - or whatever it was - had gotten up the stairs, and now the steps were coming steadily closer and closer to the room. Behind them, something moved.

Ron cursed; Hermione fainted. In the doorway stood a walking skeleton, the same body they had come across below. Harry didn't need to look behind him to know that his mother, too, was somehow animated. And then, with the force of a dozen horses running into his chest at high speed, Harry realized just what exactly these walking skeletons were.

_"Inferi,"_ he whispered. Ron gasped and cursed again.

"Shit! Hermione, Hermione, wake up! Wake up, NOW!" he slapped her face hard, and she blearily opened her eyes. When she saw the skeleton, standing stationary at the threshold, she shrieked and clung to Ron tightly. "Hermione," Ron said, "calm down, Hermione, _please_! We don't know how to deal with them…"

"What are they?" Hermione asked. Frankly, Harry was surprised she couldn't figure it out.

"I think…I think they're inferi," he said quietly. "They haven't moved to attack us, but I'm sure if we move…"

"No," Hermione said, gaining some of her usual brisk manner back, though still huddling against Ron and staring at the skeleton in the threshold with wide eyes. "No, that's impossible. I mean, and it's stupid too, isn't it? What's a pair of skeletons against three experienced wizards? Harry, these aren't inferi. They really are your…your parents."

Somehow, the smile on James's skull widened. He walked into the room, bones rattling, and all three of them jumped back in horror as he stumbled to the drawer behind them. The mirror was dusty, and so when he held up his fingers and drew them along the glass, the effect was easily viewable.

James wrote:

_The spell of silence lifted, we can now rest in peace._

Then, making his way towards Lily, the two skeletons began to slowly turn to dust, and that dust was blown away by a nonexistent breeze. Trembling, Hermione broke the silence only fifteen minutes later.

"Oh my God."

The trio went downstairs to sleep that night (or rather, morning), finding blankets in the living room that they charmed to keep them warm. They all slept together, curled against one another with Hermione in the middle and both the boys' backs pressed against her. When the first rays of sunlight began to sift through the ghostly hours of morning and rain upon the three friends, Harry awoke after a dream with grinning skeletons and faded love-letters to find Ron and Hermione clutching each other. Hermione's head was on Ron's chest and their legs were entangled. When they woke up, there was a good twenty minutes of awkwardness and red-ears before they managed to put it behind them.

They stayed there the whole day, as well, not really searching for anything important but still going through the drawers in hopes of seeing something more from the past. Three times more, Harry had visions of his parents, Sirius, Pettigrew, himself, and Lupin. By the third vision, Harry simply didn't fight it, for everything was happy in his mind. His mother was laughing, cooking eggs and ham, and his father was attempting to tickle her while Sirius attempted to feed baby Harry green beans.

When Ron came into the dining room and snapped Harry out of it, the two joined Hermione back in the living room, which they had dubbed as their official living space, and talked about what they needed to do now.

"First," said Ron, "we go back to the Burrow for the wedding."

"You sure are awfully eager to see Fleur married," Hermione huffed, indignant.

Ron's ears turned bright red. "No! It's not that, Hermione, it's just that it'll be the last day we have. I mean-" Ron cast a glance at Harry- "I'm sure we're planning on leaving right after the festivities are done."

Harry nodded sadly.

"Then where will we go?" Hermione asked, after rolling her eyes at Ron.

"I was thinking back to the orphanage where Voldemort-er, Tom lived as a kid." Ron flinched at the name, and he and Hermione went off into a little spat about the fact that 'fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself.' Harry waited patiently for about five minutes before coughing surreptitiously.

"Oh," Hermione said, jumping. In the heat of the afternoon sun, there was definitely more allowances for speaking, laughing, and even shouting (which Hermione and Ron had both proved that morning when Ron tried to convince Hermione that they didn't absolutely _need_ to eat breakfast). "But we're not likely to find anything there, are we? I mean, unless we go to the cave but…but maybe we should go to Hogwarts first? If it's closed, it'll be easy to search through."

"And I heard that the Ravenclaw ghost is so old that she actually knew some of the founders' students," Ron said. Hermione beamed at him and he blushed. "It's a rumour, OK?" he snapped. "S'not like I read Hogwarts - A History or anything." She rolled her eyes again.

"Yeah," said Harry, "maybe…." He shrugged. "We might as well start this wild goose chase somewhere familiar."

"But we can't apparate," Hermione said. At Ron and Harry's curious looks, she promptly threw her hands up in the air and said, exasperated, "Honestly, do you two _ever_ pay attention? You can't apparate anywhere on the Hogwarts premises!"

"We _knew_ that," Ron said, indignant now that Hermione thought he was hopeless again. "But we _can_ apparate to the Three Broomsticks, or anywhere else in Hogsmead for that matter. It might be a long walk, but so what? We're not on a class schedule here, we have all year."

"The sooner we get done, though," Harry said, "the sooner Voldemort's gone." Ron flinched. Hermione scowled.

"Ron, when will you-"

"Hermione, you grew up with muggles, it's easier for you. Even if you started out calling him You Know Who six years ago, I started calling him that six_teen_ years ago. It's just harder for me."

Hermione blinked, logic struggling over her pride and want to have all of them be able to say Voldemort's name without flinching. In the end, of course, logic won out and she apologized.

By the end of the day they had agreed to leave that night so that they would show up at the Burrow before the Delecours. The fewer people who knew that something strange was going on the better. So they gathered at the front door, silent as they prepared to leave the scene they had gotten used to over the past day and a half. The waxing moon shown down, giving a fluorescent light to the entire area and making it feel more magical than ever. Looking at the place where he'd first spotted his father's body, Harry closed his eyes against the violent rush of melancholic sorrow and gripped onto Ron and Hermione tightly.

A few minutes later, they had apparated back at the Burrow.

**A/N:** I know this chapter's shorter than the first two, and a bit rushed towards the middle and end, but so far it's my favourite. Please tell me what you think! Oh and, er, the skeletons aren't _as_ important as you might think. -sheepish-

**Chapter four preview:** Back at the Burrow, it's time for Fleur and Bill's wedding. Ginny's got a few more tricks up her sleeve. Will Harry hold out?

**WorldlyFeelings:** Thank you!

**Estalio:** -snigger- You noticed! I did that on purpose, actually. I almost called the examiner Robert Kensington, but then I realized that I've already used Kensington, so I thought...yeah, that'd be funny! Thank you!

Thanks, once again, to my beta readers for making this story readable. Also, huge thanks for those of you who have put me on your favourites or alert list! You make me feel so loved!

**A/N2:** For anybody interested in Ruruoni Kenshin, I highly suggest _Estalio's_ story, **_The Assassin's Curse_** while you're looking for something else to read. -pushes all readers towards that story- Even if you _aren't_ interested in Kenshin, or don't even know what that is, I suggest you read the fic. It's…splendidly grand and er…remarkably, tremendously, awe-inspiringly astounding (w00t to the thesaurus!)!


End file.
